


Be Mine If Convenient

by NerdyMind



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, JohnlockChallenges Exchange, M/M, So much fluff it will rot your teeth, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Gift exchange 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:25:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyMind/pseuds/NerdyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the-girl-with-the-owlhat as part of the 2014 Valentine’s Day johnlockchallenges exchange.</p><p>The prompt was: "To the rest of the world, it doesn’t look like John or Sherlock are celebrating Valentine’s Day- of course, most people just aren’t looking hard enough. They’re celebrating. Just in their own way."</p><p>I drew inspiration from how Sherlock went about planning his Best Man's speech and the Stag Do to decide how exactly these two adorkable boys would show sentiment to one another.  John and Sherlock are being super romantic in their own way.  Who cares if outside looking in you can't see it?</p><p>**UPDATE**<br/>Now available in <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3228275">podfic</a> form!  thank you <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpercent/pseuds/sevenpercent">sevenpercent</a>!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Mine If Convenient

“John, is there any particular reason for the bag of human eyes in the microwave?”

“Just thought it would be nice. For today, I mean, since Donovan threw out the last set and ruined your experiment.”

“For today?”

“Forget it. I understand it’s not your thing. Just wanted to do something for you.” John was blushing and not meeting his lover’s gaze.

“But why--”

“I need a shower or I’ll be late for work.” John interrupted, “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock.” The doctor quickly ducked inside their bathroom, locking the door behind him and leaning against the sink to catch his breath. _Thank God I binned that ‘I Only Have Eyes for You’ card. Watson, you idiot._

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in frustration at the closed door. He hated not knowing things. Especially things John knew. And especially things John expected him to know but didn’t want to bother him with. Those were the worst. He removed the eyes from the microwave and carried them to the kitchen counter. His fingers fiddling with the red ribbon secured at the top while he pondered John’s odd behavior and odder gift. Once under the new light, Sherlock could clearly make out an intricate lace and heart pattern on the outer bag. _Shit._  
____

John was bouncing about the office all day, whistling and smiling to himself. A mumbled thanks from Sherlock and a quick peck on his cheek was all it took to reassure him the gift had been appreciated. He didn’t need tinsel or lace to know he was loved. He just needed those little moments of appreciation to sustain him for months. And yet, at his core, John was still a romantic. He wanted to do more. Just because Sherlock wasn’t the type of partner to make grand romantic gestures didn’t mean John had to stop showering his lover with affection.

“I need to get him something more permanent. Something he can keep.” John muttered to himself as Sarah walked in with the next patient’s chart. She was wearing a new diamond heart necklace which John highly suspected was a nervous last minute exchange from her boyfriend. _I wonder what sort of jewelry Sherlock would like..._  his mind drifted. The doctor shook his head laughing. He knew dating a man would be a challenge in itself, but this was Sherlock bloody Holmes. There was no magazine advice column for how to please a genius consulting detective.

Behind Sarah, he caught a glimpse of the nurse’s station crowded in balloons and bouquets from boyfriends and husbands who were trying their hardest to get laid that evening. _No, too impersonal. Too temporary._ John drifted through patients the remainder of the day, always going back to the jewelry idea. He had never seen Sherlock wear jewelry. The man turned his nose up at cuff links and sneered at the tie clips grateful clients tried to give him. Despite this knowledge, John still pictured himself giving Sherlock a piece of meaningful jewelry for Valentine’s Day. It wasn’t until the close of his day that the doctor got his best idea yet.  
____

Sherlock sprawled across the sofa and groaned dramatically. Fourteen mind numbing magazines in and none of them had helped to alleviate his situation. Molly had begrudgingly dropped off every variety of dating rag she could find after Sherlock muttered some nonsense about an investigation and a dire emergency. The latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_ was his last hope. With its title page promises of _A Perfect Valentine’s Date for Your Man_ and _Ten Ideas to Get Your Guy to Fall in Love With You Again_ , Sherlock settled back into the sofa and sighed.

The determined detective flipped past ads and fashion advice until he found the first article. The top two date ideas were discarded immediately. Sporting events weren’t something John would dislike, he knew of the man’s rugby past and his attention to football, but Sherlock also knew he would be an insufferable date and would prefer an activity they could both enjoy. City adventures sounded interesting until he read suggestions about picnics in the park and ice skating. Given the lives they lead, neither man would consider such mundane activities an adventure. The final suggestion instructed readers to recreate their first date and stoke the fires of young love. Though John and Sherlock had yet to have what anyone would consider a proper date, it did give him an idea.

In an effort to collect more data points, Sherlock read the second article and nodded in decision when his idea was fully endorsed and encouraged. “Remind him why you fell in love with him to begin with,” Sherlock read aloud. A yellow post-it was scribbled with a short list of notes, then he jumped from the sofa in excitement and grabbed his cell phone. For this idea to work, he would require a few assistants.  
____

John left Bart’s just after five. Checking his watch, he had enough time to pick up dinner before heading back home to grab his gift. His mind was buzzing with excitement as he rounded the corner headed for the tube.  That was, until a familiar face soured his mood and set a sinking feeling in his gut that told him all romantic plans for the evening would be canceled.

“Doctor Watson, come with me please.” Anthea stood in his path beside a long black car.

“Mycroft really couldn’t wait to harass me tomorrow?” the doctor sighed dramatically. “I really need to get back to Baker Street. Plans this evening.”

“He insists.” she answered, opening the door and not meeting his eye.

John briefly considered running for the tube, but his sense of duty got the better of him and he begrudgingly climbed inside the car. Knowing Anthea wouldn’t answer any questions asked, he brooded in silence. If he was too late to cook dinner, they could still order in. So long as he was able to give Sherlock one final gift, he would tolerate this untimely interruption. Moments later they pulled up outside a familiar warehouse and John’s eyes widened in confusion and excitement.

“Hang on.. is this?” he asked, following his escort through the entrance. “Isn’t this where you took me the first time we met?”

“The very same.” Mycroft answered behind him. John turned to find the elder Holmes leaning upon his umbrella and smiling. He had grown much fonder of the man now that he knew their shared concern for Sherlock came from a place of love.

“And to what national crisis do I owe this pleasure?” John teased.

“You will understand shortly.” Mycroft answered and pulled a phone from his breast pocket, handing it to the confused doctor. “You will receive texts. Do as they say and enjoy yourself.” John gaped and flipped the phone in his hands nervously. A pink phone. His heart hammered in fear and maybe, if he was honest, a touch of anticipation. The phone in his palm looked remarkably similar to the late Jennifer Wilson’s. Before John could ask any of the questions flooding his mind, the phone chimed and startled him.

**Angelo’s. Come at Once.**

The text was unsigned but John knew Sherlock. He knew that writing style. And the words “come at once” had graced his own phone countless times, whether it be for murder or tea, they were Sherlock’s calling card just as much as his initials. But dinner reservations? That was pleasantly new. The doctor sighed in defeat and decided to give in to his lover’s game.

“Bit of a roundabout way to ask a bloke out to dinner, Sherlock.” John laughed. He looked to Mycroft, giddy smile still stretching his cheeks and expecting an explanation.

“Simply follow instructions.” Mycroft answered with a knowing wink and he was gone.  Leaving the doctor to do as he had been told and return to Anthea.

Back in the car John instructed the driver of their destination. He toyed with the phone as London passed by in a blur of greys and allowed his mind to wander. Though they had been in a relationship for months now, John avoided being overly romantic outside the flat. He knew how much Sherlock despised public displays of sentiment. “There will be no hand holding at crime scenes, John,” the dark haired genius told him that first night. John promised to keep himself in check even if it had become increasingly difficult. The desire to touch Sherlock had been within him from the beginning. Now that he had permission, it pushed him to the very edge of frustration to not touch until they were back home. But home was always worth the wait.

At the restaurant, John expected to find his mad boyfriend at a corner table with candles and a devious grin but Sherlock was nowhere to be found. Instead, Angelo greeted John with a bottle of _Buried Cane Merlot_ and sent him out the back exit. The restauranteur barely contained a giggle fit and his smiling was infectious. The doctor found his own mood improve sevenfold as the jovial man escorted him outside. John looked down at the bottle in his hands and scoffed at the wine name selection. “Smartarse,” he muttered looking about. At the end of the alley, John spotted Inspector Greg Lestrade waving him over.

“Where to mate?” the DI asked. Before John could reply, the pink phone chimed.

**Lauriston Gardens. Upstairs.**

“God that’s… morbid, Sherlock.” John groaned and tilted the screen to show Lestrade.

“I would say I’m surprised but that would be a lie.” Greg answered with a sympathetic shrug.

John climbed into the police cruiser, heart thudding in anticipation. The new location was significant because it was where they found Jennifer Wilson’s body. Or, as John was sure Sherlock had romanticized it in his own mind, it was their very first crime scene. The doctor smiled as realization settled into his frame, coiling warmth and light around his core. It was kind of romantic, in a special way.

Once they arrived, John climbed the dusty staircase up to the former crime scene. The wooden floor was still marred with the fading outline of Jennifer’s last goodbye. Next to the scratched letters was a new leather medical bag. John sucked in a gasp as he lifted the gift. His initials were intricately engraved on the front flap. Attached to the handle was a small card with Sherlock’s neat handwriting that simply read “for my doctor”. Sherlock must’ve noticed how worn his old work satchel had become because John hadn’t spoken a word about it. A dull ache was forming in his chest when the phone chimed again.

**Back to Baker Street.**

“Finally.” John breathed. He had craved Sherlock’s touch all day. And after this little trip down memory lane, he was aching for it. To think, he had woken this morning with the assumption that Sherlock was above all romantic gesture. Much less thoughtful gifts and love games.

Downstairs, John held up the bag for Greg’s appraisal. “Oh, leather, very nice. I guess that means he likes you.”

“I should hope so considering how many times I’ve let him shag me,” the doctor laughed as Greg’s face flushed crimson. John smiled the entire ride back home, cradling the wine and his gift.

Inside the flat, John’s heart sank. It was dark and cold. Sherlock wasn’t home. He placed the wine and his new bag on the kitchen counter top and was about to pull his own phone out when the pink one chimed.

**Relax, shower and change. Your cab will arrive in one hour.**

**Bring the wine.**

John regained his smile and whistled a happy tune. Something Sherlock had composed weeks ago that he couldn’t quite shake loose. He quickly stripped and stepped into the bathroom for a nice hot shower. An understanding Sherlock who not only knew he needed to unwind after work but also allotted time for him to do so? This was new behavior the doctor hoped would last past today.

Stepping out of the steaming room, John was still humming. He quickly dressed in the striped shirt Sherlock had complimented him on once with the dark wash denim that made his arse look just right. Once clothed, John went to his closet and retrieved the small blue velvet box from the back shelf. It wasn’t a personalized leather satchel, but he was confident the gesture would be appreciated. He popped the lid and pulled out his dog tags. Still dirty with sand and flecks of blood from his injury, they suddenly felt heavy in his hands and John froze.

 _Should I clean them first?_ He let his eyes wander over the dulled edges, memories threatening to flood back. “No,” he answered aloud. Not only would he feel very awkward about washing away an important part of his past, but he knew for a fact that Sherlock would find them more interesting as is. Rubbing a cautious thumb across the raised letters of his last name, John sighed and slipped the tags back in their box. He pocketed the gift just as a chime sounded from the sitting room. “Guess my hour is up,” he laughed and exited the bedroom.

**Your cab is downstairs. You will be blindfolded.**

John stared at the screen blinking. _I’ll be what now?_ He considered texting an objection in reply. But then he remembered the wine. The lovely bag. Sherlock had obviously put a lot of thought and work into this plan. What’s one more lesson in trust?

Downstairs he was greeted by a semi familiar face which made the blindfolding much less terrifying. The deli manager of Speedy’s had a younger brother who sometimes moonlighted as a cab driver. Mrs. Hudson had the young man around for tea a few times. So, even though John had forgotten his name, he remembered his face. Had Sherlock anticipated his apprehension and purposely hired someone John knew? How alarmingly thoughtful of him.

Once they arrived at their destination, the young cabbie whom John had learned was named Michael, asked him to pick a letter before removing the blindfold. “A or B, Doctor Watson? Then he says you can take it off when I drive away.”

“Of all the bloody… B, I suppose.” John selected more from impatience than logic.

“Alright then, just wait there.” Michael escorted John from the back and asked him to stand still as he unloaded the selected box. He felt a bit silly, standing in the middle of who-knows-where, blindfolded and clutching a bottle of wine. But his hearing was heightened and he attempted to deduce his surroundings while waiting patiently for more instructions.

Another text alert came as he heard the engine of the cab come to life. Removing his blindfold, John watched the car disappear down the street and fade away into dim red tail lights. He was standing in a dimly lit alley. Down by his feet he found a box from Angelo’s labeled ‘B’ with two dinners inside. Then, turning to take in his surroundings, John gasped as he realized where he was. The new text confirmed what his gut already knew.

**Building on your right. 3rd Floor Chemistry Lab.**

The very same lab where Sherlock had nearly poisoned himself just to prove how clever he was. The very same lab where John had made the choice to take one man’s life to save another. The very same moment John knew, without a doubt, that Sherlock was someone worth dying for. _Oh you great big romantic sod_. John laughed to himself. Shifting the wine bottle in his grip, he picked up their dinners and headed inside.

Once upstairs, John lost all ability to think. He knew Sherlock would be there. But knowing and seeing were two different experiences. The doctor slowly entered the dim room, eyes drinking in every detail of his lover. The lights were off. Sherlock had situated himself by the window at a table he’d set for two complete with plates, silverware and wine glasses. Candles were scattered about the table lighting his pale skin in a warm glow and reflecting in the glassware. John cleared his throat as he walked closer, setting the wine and dinners on the table. Sherlock ignored him, fingers flying across his phone.

John opened his mouth to speak when the pink phone in his pocket chimed. Pulling it out, he broke into the widest smile of the day.

**Be mine if convenient. SH**

The doctor giggled, stepping closer to Sherlock’s chair when the phone chimed once more.

**If inconvenient, be mine anyway. SH**

John quickly texted his reply and set the pink phone down to lean into his lover's space.

**I am yours. J**

“Could be dangerous.” Sherlock said, tucking his phone away and grinning deviously up at the man he loved.

“Promise?” John smiled, closing the space between them to kiss his thanks into those smirking lips.  
_____

After hours of snogging and heated groping interrupted by breaks for lasagna and merlot, John remembered his gift for Sherlock.

“Oh!” he exclaimed around a forkful of cold pasta. “I can’t believe I nearly forgot.” John pulled the small box from his coat pocket and handed it across to Sherlock.

“John, you already. That is... this morning.” Sherlock began.

“Sherlock, you can’t be serious. After everything you did for me today. I owe you a lifetime of gratitude, not some squishy eyeballs.”

“But you do so much for me every day, John.” Sherlock insisted, eyes suddenly panicked. “I wanted you to know that I appreciate it. Everything. Making tea the way I like. Tending my wounds so I can avoid hospitals. Wearing those red pants I love. All the small ways you show me you care, I love it. I love you.”

“I know you do, and I also love you. That is why I really want you to have these.” John insisted, nudging the box closer.

Sherlock’s lips clamped shut in a thin line as realization sank in. He knew that blue velvet box. He had seen it before when John first moved in to Baker Street and he remembered what was in it. How important it was and how upset John had been when he’d seen Sherlock holding the tags out of curiosity that first evening.

“I know that look, so stop it.” John said sternly, leaving his chair to stand behind Sherlock. “I yelled at you back then because you were a stranger going through my things. Personal things. But tonight, you are no longer a stranger.” He leaned forward, opening the box in front of the silent detective and slowly pulled his military tags out to hang in front of them. “Tonight you are Sherlock Holmes. My lover. My partner. My best friend. And I would be honored for you to have this piece of my past.” John whispered the last line against Sherlock’s ear, sending chills down the taller man’s spine. He did not speak or move.

“May I?” John asked softly. Hot breath against Sherlock’s cheek. He held the chain open with both hands, in offering. Sherlock nodded and lowered his head allowing John to slip them up and over. He flinched at the initial shock of cool metal against his skin, gooseflesh trailing up his nape. But John was quick and, Sherlock was coming to realize, much more perceptive. Soft, warm lips were already kissing away the chill along his neck and throat before Sherlock regained the ability to speak.

“John,” he croaked, blinking back tears as John’s lips worked their way up his chin and across his cheek and temple. “Thank you.” Sherlock tried to put everything he was feeling into those two words. His fingers toyed with the raised text on each metal tag as his lips were met with warmth and adoration. He was thankful John trusted him so much. He was thankful his plans to venture into romantic gestures had been a success. Most of all, he was thankful for the day John Hamish Watson stormed into his path, gun blazing. And he was thankful for every day since.

“Let’s go home, Sherlock,” John said between breaths. He stepped back, winked and wiggled his hips in an over exaggerated manner he would later blame on too much wine. “You still have one more gift to unwrap tonight.”

“Captain Watson, you cheeky strumpet.” Sherlock laughed pulling his devious boyfriend into his lap and placing a gentle bite into his collarbone in mock reprimand. John sighed contentedly and nuzzled into the warm shoulders of a welcome embrace.

“Happy Valentine’s, Sherlock.”

“Happy Valentine’s, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock's notes:  
> 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[PODFIC] Be Mine if Convenient](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3228275) by [sevenpercent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevenpercent/pseuds/sevenpercent)




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